


only a door and thin walls apart

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [26]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apartment Building, F/M, Fluff, Neighbours, Neighbours AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted for a Bellarke neighbours AU.</p><p>Clarke has been working constantly since she moved in, and she's only just getting around to unpacking. Turns out, there's a cute neighbour who wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only a door and thin walls apart

**Author's Note:**

> I think I mainly like this fic because I like the font I was writing it in, today, and because I'm venting about my hatred of packing. Otherwise, it's kind of cute.
> 
> Enjoy.

Clarke hated moving on principle. There was just something about all the boxes that filled her new apartment that she couldn’t stand. First off, finding boxes was much harder than she thought it would be. Movies really let her down, because she was under the assumption that there were spare boxes absolutely _everywhere_. No, instead she had to visit her local supermarket and take some of their old banana boxes and then tape over the _massive fucking holes_ in the bottoms, before even considering packing her things.

And then there’s the fucking packing. Because packing sucks and that should just be a known thing. Wells had helped Clarke to pack up her old apartment that she shared with Raven – she was only leaving because _he was moving the fuck in_ , and apparently, her staying around while the love birds shacked up just wasn’t appropriate. She was like Rachel in those episodes where Chandler and Monica moved in together, which was odd, because she always felt more like a Monica than a Rachel.

But that was a tangent.

The packing sucked because Wells was exceptionally organised, and Clarke Griffin was a self-professed human train wreck. Seriously, she had no idea what was happening. So, now, she had been moved in for three days, had been working at Ark General Hospital for all three of those days, and her things were still packed in boxes that she didn’t want to go through.

However, Clarke knew that the boxes held her clothes, and probably the TV remote, too. So she started unpacking.

The first box was a mystery, because no one thought to write on the outside what was on the inside, and instead of anything helpful, Clarke found board games and a smaller box filled to the brim with _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ Cards, that she couldn’t really explain other than Raven wanted to get rid of hers, and thought placing them in Clarke’s things to move out would do a better job than recycling them. Clarke sighed and swore aloud, moving her way through the boxes.

After twenty minutes of talking aloud to herself and catching her toe on the furniture more than once, Clarke finally found the first box of her clothes. Sure, she’d packed a suitcase, but the suitcase was actually just filled with shoes and underwear – _the necessities_ , Raven insisted when she’d packed in. So, Clarke fished out a pair of joggers from a box labelled ‘ugly and should be thrown out’, and an over-sized t-shirt (with a picture of her college science teacher, Mr Kane, on the front, and the back with the words ‘I LOVE SCIENCE’) from a box labelled ‘presents from Raven’, and threw them on.

It just happened to be when she was forcing her way through her apartment, stepping over boxes and pushing empty ones out the way, that she fell.

The falling couldn’t really be explained. It was probably caused by a miss-step, maybe just Clarke being an idiot, but she fell all the same and let out a scream before landing on her ass. Clarke sighed, flopping backwards onto the floor.

Her tailbone was thumping from where it hit the floor, and it reminded her of the time she slipped and fell down the stairs, only on her butt, and ended with such a bad bruise that it hurt to go to the toilet. Then there was a knock at the door.

“Hey, are you all right?” A voice called. She raised her eyebrows, sitting up a little, propping herself up on her elbows. “Do you need any help?” Clarke considered this for a moment – physically, she was fine, mentally, she was exhausted. Also, she’d only unpacked two of her twenty-odd boxes, and if this neighbour was kind enough to check on her after screaming, they were probably kind enough to help her unpack.

With that in mind, she called back, “Come in!”

A moment later, the door opened hesitantly. She hadn’t met any of her neighbours, but Clarke would be pretty happy if they all looked like the man who stepped through the door way. He was tall – much taller than her – with dark hair and dark skin, and he looked hardened, like the world had picked a fight with him from a young age. But, there was something in his eyes when he surveyed the room and landed on her that was soft, like the world wasn’t going to make a monster out of him just yet.

“Hey,” he greeted, worried, pushing the door shut as he moved through her apartment. He reached her before crouching down. “Are you all right?” She paused for a moment, her eyes unable to look away from his because – _holy shit_ they were like dark chocolate and Clarke had always preferred something bitter to something sweet. She coughed, though, forcing her eyes – and her thoughts – away.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m good,” she nodded, accepting his hand up. She rubbed her lower back, thumping a little less but aching all the same.

“What happened?” The man asked. Clarke glanced around.

“I fell,” she replied. “I’m not sure how, but one minute I was standing and-“

“The next minute you weren’t,” he finished, nodding. The man looked around, then, and Clarke suddenly felt the heat rush to her face when she remembered the state of her home. However, she didn’t have to defend it, because he spoke first. “You moved in a couple of days ago, right?” Clarke nodded.

“Uh, yeah – I’ve been working though, so I haven’t had time to unpack.” He took a step towards a box – the one with the games and the _Yu-Gi-Oh_! Cards, his fingers drifting along the rim of the cardboard.

“Do you need any help?” She raised her eyebrows and he shrugged. “I mean, I’m free and, well, there are a lot of boxes.” She smiled a little, pausing before she found herself nodding.

“I don’t even know your name,” Clarke pointed out. The man widened his eyes a little.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he fumbled for a moment before sticking his hand out towards her. “Bellamy Blake, 2B.” Clarke smiled warmly, shaking his hand.

“Clarke Griffin, 2A.” They smiled at each other for a moment, hands lingering, eyes lingering _, fuck it_ – her entire _being_ was _lingering_ because she didn’t want to let go and his hand was comically bigger than hers, but softer than it looked; gentler than the hard edges of his jaw and his shoulders, and there was a contrast between his whole being that slowed Clarke’s breathing.

But, they eventually let go, and Bellamy – his name was _literal poetry,_ she noticed – set to work on the boxes of books, organising them into the shelf by author _and_ genre, and Clarke went about moving her clothes from the boxes to the drawers, their voices talking through the wall from her bedroom to her living room.

“Hey,” she mused at one point. “How did you hear me scream, earlier?” When he spoke, there was humour in his voice.

“Oh, you bought the wrong apartment,” he replied. “These walls are practically paper – the guy in 2C, Murphy, he punched the wall and his fist broke through to my kitchen.” Their laughs filled her home and Clarke found herself wishing that she had met him three days earlier, when she moved in, or nine months when he did, so she could have helped carry his boxes up the stairs and organise _his_ books on the shelf (author, genre _and_ colour, he told her), and have more time than just the hours they were given.

He must have felt the same way, because when they collapsed onto her sofa, half the boxes unpacked and flattened against a wall, _Bellamy_ suggested getting dinner together, and _Bellamy_ later took her hand and pulled her into him, _Bellamy_ kissed her, placing his lips so gently on hers until she replied, hungry, beautifully, unable to figure out where she ended and he began. _Bellamy_ asked her for a second date, and she had to ask,

“Oh, _this_ was a date?” _Bellamy_ had shrugged, lacing their fingers together.

“A first date. First of many, I’d hope.”

(But it was _Clarke_ who asked him to move in with her, some six months later.)

**Author's Note:**

> All cards on the table-  
> The story about falling down the stairs on her butt, is 100% a true story about me, when I was eight. Going to the toilet physically pained me for a week.  
> Also, the t-shirt Clarke's wearing, is based off my friend, Toby's. For Christmas a few years back, as a P.E. student, his friends gave him a t-shirt with his P.E. teacher's face on the front and 'I LOVE PE' on the back. It's beautiful and he wears it to this day.
> 
> Kudos and comments are wanted and appreciated, thanks.


End file.
